


a Losing Hand

by Ceia



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceia/pseuds/Ceia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think we need words right now, Franky.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	a Losing Hand

  
-

It is midnight, and Franky is staring up at the ceiling while he waits for the sign.

A warm-blooded fellow used to sleeping naked in a room with open windows and a Water 7 breeze, Franky tends to get a little twitchy and uncomfortable in the stuffy boys’ bunk. Tonight his skin is hot to the point of sweating, the result of excessive fidgeting, and his feet in particular feel as if they’re boiling the blankets pooled around them like pots on a stove.

On a night as cold as this, Franky’s body temperature should be a warning of impending fever or some other dreadful illness. But actually Franky has never felt better. The sweating does not bother him, nor do the stifling sheets which cover him; it would be very easy to just kick the blankets off and head outside into the snow. As a matter of fact, very shortly Franky will be doing those very things in that very order, so for now he is happy to stay where he is, waiting patiently for the sign and content to tolerate the heat until it arrives. He also needs to keep himself covered anyway to prevent anyone else – sleeping though they may or may not be – from noticing in the meanwhile. The risk of the others seeing isn’t worth the temporary reprieve of being cool.

The sign usually comes around this time, following a moment of unexpected contact at some point earlier during the day, contact too pronounced to be accidental. The sweeping brush of fingertips on his shoulder when he’s down in the workshop, fetching cola from the cellar, enjoying the sea breeze in his speedos out on deck, is usually fleeting at best. A touch that is barely a whisper of contact but an invitation nonetheless, and it is an invitation which, lately, he has begun to immensely look forward to, feeling incomplete and agitated if the day has passed into night without it.

On the increasingly infrequent nights without a sign, Franky works himself up to the point of sleeplessness or at least several hours of extreme fidgeting. Conversely while nights such as this one are often unpleasant for a few hours while he waits, around this sort of time is when the sign does arrive and Franky can act upon the adrenaline which keeps his mind too active and his blood pumping too furiously for sleep.

Sure enough, at 12:36am, the sign does indeed come, and Franky’s warmed skin prickles all over the second he notices it.

This time it is delicate. The manicured nails of two fingertips skate along the inside of his thigh, not quite reaching the apex of his legs but coming close enough to send red-hot bolts through Franky’s belly to his brain. His body tenses up completely. The cola inside him bubbles as if shaken. Activated, he glances sharply around the room to make sure that his departure won’t draw any attention, and in a single flamboyant movement the covers are cast aside and the shipwright has snatched his bomber jacket on his way out of the bunk.

Franky is not such a warm-blooded fellow that he can normally withstand blizzards in speedos and an open jacket (though he did manage to put the collar up), but tonight he barely notices the snow crunching beneath his toes and whipping at his legs. Indeed, he can barely feel the cold at all as he trudges intently across the deck, cola fizzing and pulse racing too much to let a bit of snow distract him. A spare set of sunglasses are in his pocket and the movement is automatic when he pulls them out and slides them on, because somehow he has a feeling he’s gonna need them for this. Of course it’s gonna be awesome. Every single damn time he’s summoned is awesome, never awkward (sometimes a little) or a disappointment. But Franky, intuitive like he is, just has this feeling that tonight is gonna bring some _seriously_ awesome shit to the table, and he likes to be adequately prepared for such situations. The imagery which comes with wondering precisely what will happen tonight is tantalizing enough to make Franky skip a few steps and warm him from his toes to the tips of his perfectly styled hair.

And yet when he flicks the accumulated snow from his oversized arms, it is not because of the cold but because he’s a little twitchy. Not apprehensive, just… especially eager to please. He’d never say so – probably doesn’t need to because she’s the smartest woman he knows (in the entire world) and must be able to read him like any one of her books. But he’s just a little bit nervous. Always is when he’s got a ‘date’ like this, when he’s been waiting literally all day (his entire life) for this and wants so much for it to be as incredible as he imagines.

But then the confident smirk plasters itself over his face, because as fast as the nerves set in he thinks- _how could she be disappointed by ME? Wouldn’t keep invitin’ me over if I was anything less than the BEST. YEEAAH!_

And he has to admit that, beneath the bravado and self-supporting overconfidence, he must be doing _something_ right for her to keep wanting him back.

Franky stops by the mast for a few seconds. He’s still grinning when he looks up at the observation room, excitement pounding in his chest and pooling in his stomach for what he knows is waiting for him. Using deduction skills which could rival the most diligent of detectives, he remembers that Nami is on lookout duty this week, then turns and notices that the bathroom isn’t in use, so she must be in the library, yeah, she’s in the library tonight, she’s in there right now waiting for him like he’s been waiting for her and he has to run his fingers through his hair to make sure it’s still super and hops from foot to foot because _Robin is waiting hurry up and get in there you dumbass!_

Franky can’t help winking at and fingergunning the door in a somewhat strange and final bid to excise the lingering tension from his body. When he bursts through it with a loud declaration of his intent to make only the most super love to the world’s most super archaeologist, the scene which greets him makes his jaw drop and his speedos bulge.

Nico Robin is many things. Powerful, quietly sophisticated and intelligent to the point of intimidation. Frighteningly direct, frequently morbid, and smiles only the most genuine, delicate smiles while she’s in the company of her friends.

Right now, however, Nico Robin is an elegant body of curves and sex, draped in thick open robes the colour of wine. With an open book in her lap she sits languid on the cushioned bench, her legs curled beneath her, her hair tied back into a tousled ponytail. She is dressed in scant silk lingerie, of course, but the colour is mouth-watering - a juicy shade of electric blue, and not at all something she would choose without Franky in mind, not in a billion years.

Having somehow noticed Franky’s understated entrance, she faces him with a serene smile, setting the book aside and then neatly folding her hands in her lap instead. Neither of them say a word. It isn’t until Franky drags his wandering gaze up from her body to meet her eyes when Robin’s smile sharpens just slightly, and the look in her dark eyes holds a quiet threat of desire. Her glance is a hook which snares Franky by the balls – a skill she has turned into a hobby, or is it the other way round? – and the sound he makes is strangled in his throat. Delicately she shifts until she is leaning back enough for the robes to fall past her shoulders, exposing the pale skin of her collarbone and the fine straps of a bra acting as little more than a balcony.

The curtains are drawn, the light overhead is appropriately dimmed, and there are several bottles of cola on the table which were definitely not there earlier when the entire crew had been in the library for some cocoa. Everything has been planned meticulously.

“Good evening, Franky.” Robin’s legs uncurl from beneath her, and she tips her head just so. “Would you like to come and join me?”

There’s a resounding clatter when Franky’s sunglasses hit the floor and Robin softly chuckles, always amused when he casts them aside for dramatic effect. A soft thud follows when he sheds the jacket as though it’s on fire, any moisture from melted snow long since evaporated, and within a second Franky has removed the space between them. With a growl which rumbles like the purr of a well-oiled engine Franky straddles Robin and dives in to plant a line of hasty, messy kisses along her neck. His large hands are possessive as they slide down the slope of her back and when he finds he could easily cup her slender waist, he does so, pulling her body against his, wanting to devour her entire being. He’s thrilled by the gasps he gets with each heated contact, the arms slung over his shoulders, the way she tilts her neck so he can kiss that sensitive spot behind her ear. Robin’s shoulders roll back and she shudders in his arms, falsely pliant, when he leans in. Both of them are well aware of the fact that the one in control here is most definitely not Franky.

“Nico Robin.” Franky’s voice is thickened by lust, and every word is hot against her skin. “There are… there are no words for how… _super_ you are.”

It isn’t exactly the sexiest thing he’s ever said, but the depth to his words does make her smile and shiver. She has come to find that, with Franky, it’s all about delivery. “Do you mean this week,” Robin breathes, “or in general?”

Most alarmingly, Franky threatens to pause and actually think about this. She can see it in the slight pull of his mouth and the thoughtful ‘huh’ on the tip of his tongue. But Robin has waited for long enough. She grasps his face delicately in her palms, commanding his full attention when she tilts him to fully face her, and then brings him down into a hungry crash of a kiss. Their lips part on impact and there’s the immediate taste of cola filling her mouth, his tongue wet and sweet as it slides against her own, and she reaches around to tangle her fingers in his hair, to tell him without words that she wants as much of him as he can give. Robin is rewarded with Franky’s typical fervency, his hands roaming over her smooth skin and his erection throbbing as it presses through strained swimwear against her groin, and in return she parts her legs to let him in closer, allows an extra pair of arms to blossom around his waist to claw with need at the broad width of his back.

 “God, you- augh- you’re so-!” Franky pants out when he withdraws from a  kiss that’s become so sloppy he has to brush a thumb along her lower lip. When she catches it between her teeth, biting enough to keep it there, a whimper escapes him. “Robin,” he tries again, “you’re just-”

He can’t finish because her fingers are in his hair and on his back, tugging to demand more of him, and he’s kissing her neck again, heading down this time towards her collarbone and then further down still. His nose feels cool and hard, alien against her skin when he buries his face between her breasts and groans. The sensation is odd – cool metal nose, warm human skin - but not unpleasant, much like when Franky first told her he thought she was really smart and sexy and would she be up for y’know doin’ some stuff sometime if she was interested but uh totally no big deal if not.

Robin laughs breathily when his large fingers pause over the back of her bra, teasing the fabric there a bit as though he’s lost his way. She loves that sometimes he will ruin her underwear in his haste to get it off, and sometimes – like now, when he’s barely seen her during the day, when there’s been little by way of secret flirting or stolen glances – he will savour every part of her.

Franky nestles into her neck again and continues to kiss but they come slower and slower, each kiss savouring and deliberate. But a few quivering moments pass with Robin held close in his arms and his restrained dick throbbing between her legs, and Franky is yet to unhook the clasps. He’s gotten bra removal down to a fine art at this point despite his cumbersome hands, so why the hesitation?  And it’s then that Robin softens, realising again that he’s a craftsman, that he isn’t tearing it off because he’s murring vaguely into her neck and appreciating the lingerie she’d picked out especially for him. She arches against him in a surge of warm affection, allowing him as much time as he needs.

The shipwright is content to enjoy this slowly because normally he rushes right in without getting all this awesome sexy stuff beforehand – though that’s only through being eager to get down and dirty, and Robin has never once complained about his haste before. Their time is limited, after all. Franky knows she’d probably appreciate a bit more patience, but god damn is it hard to restrain himself when she’s… when she’s done all of this just for him. When she answers his passion levelly, seems to crave and lust and want just as much.

There’s always a nagging disbelief at the back of Franky’s mind when they do this, even though it’s been about three weeks since that first night in the crow’s nest. Admittedly, now that he has paused to evaluate things, he’s as shocked to be in this position now as he was to see Robin waiting for him back then, when it’d been his turn for lookout duty and she insisted on staying with him through the night. And now, after inviting him to visit her almost every night this week, she’s wearing underwear _specifically_ for him.

How the hell could such a refined, intellectual lady entertain a huge posing grease monkey like him? How can such a solitary person who has been hurt so many times not only open up to him but utterly reciprocate his passion?  Why not one of the other guys? Why _him_?

“Is there a problem?”

The question is gentle and curious, enough thankfully to rouse Franky from his thoughtful stupor. He laughs, shaky and awkward. Withdrawing from her with a sort of embarrassed smile on his face, Franky brings his hand around from the back of Robin’s bra to sweep a few stray locks of hair behind her ear, affectionate but clearly searching for a distraction. He doesn’t want to make it awkward, damn it; the throbbing in his speedos is definitely still there even if isn’t quite as insistent as before.

“I just… kinda can’t believe you’d go to all this trouble,” he mumbles, just a little ashamed to sound so suddenly pathetic about it.

Robin’s chest rises and falls quickly from breaths shortened by their intimacy even now that it has temporarily stopped. Her extra arms have not moved from his back.  Looking a touch concerned, but mostly still curious, she gently pushes. “What trouble, Franky?”

Franky is not one to mince words. Red faced and looking away like this, though, he’s really struggling to articulate what he’s thinking. Robin understands immediately that this is something he needs to say; part of why she is so fond of him is that he hides absolutely nothing, including how he feels, even if he does get sentimental at extremely inopportune moments. But for Franky there is a very fine balance involved when managing his emotions. The overwhelming happiness that he is experiencing right now means teetering between ravishing her senseless and sobbing at the sheer beauty of her romantic thoughtfulness. There have, in truth, been just a couple of times when he’s cried after they’ve had sex – but ONLY because it was SO BEAUTIFUL and so INCREDIBLY MIND-BLOWINGLY SUPER that he could not contain the swell of feelings captivating his heart and his...

And it’s undeniable that Franky’s emotional outbursts have been irritating in the past. Occasionally he’s irritating even when he’s _not_ having an emotional outburst. But Robin wants to know what has made the man on top of her, whose sexual passion rivals Sanji’s romantic dedication, stop midway through making out. It must be something quite profound, surely.

Finally, Franky looks back to Robin with a dumb grin. “Y’know… choosing panties and stuff, just for me. I can’t believe you’d do that.”

Robin sprouts an arm just to hide her giggling behind a hand, even though it makes Franky blush to his ears and grind out his jaw, scowling. “Oi, don’t laugh at a man for expressing himself.”

“Oh, I would never.” Robin twirls a lock of blue hair between her fingers, looking fondly at the curves of Franky’s chin, at eyelashes longer than her own. She hums in thought and shifts so they are a little more upright while splayed on the bench. “Franky, have you heard of the proverb, ‘actions speak louder than words’?”

Franky is sceptical of this change in subject, tilting his head back slightly to assess her. His eyes narrow. “… Yeah. Why?”

“Well, it’s something you’re particularly good at,” she says with a delicate smile. “So I thought I might try it myself.”

Never mind the fact that their daily interactions are based around Robin’s wordless flirtations. Never mind that they meet based on an invitation which is not verbal but of contact and that Robin is really quite skilled at it herself.

Franky’s scowl dissipates. “Oh,” he says.

“Sometimes it is possible to say much more without using any words at all. Don’t you agree?”

Franky isn’t entirely sure where she’s going with this. He thinks he understands? Can at least draw a couple of comparisons. “Like how Swordsman is smitten with Strawhat but shows it without ever directly letting him or anybody else know?”

Robin blinks.

“Unless they’ve got some secret thing goin’ on like us two, eh?” he smirks, wishing he had his sunglasses on so he could adjust them coolly over his nose. Franky just loves dazzling unsuspecting crewmates with his incredible perception skills. “Though I doubt Strawhat has any idea. Kid’s super dense.”

Robin is alarmed to realise where this going when Franky assumes a look of contemplation. “So… surely Strawhat shoulda been able to figure it out by now if actions had been enough. Robin, what’re you getting at here?”

“Perhaps in their case, it may be worth actually saying something.” Robin would like to give this more thought. She really would, seeing as Franky is the only other member to have ever even mentioned anything like this concerning the crew. But her attention is beginning to wander, evidenced in eyes lowered to look between Franky’s legs and thighs which part to accommodate him again. When he doesn’t move, still waiting on a response, she decides it is best for both of them to spell it out. “I don’t think we need words right now, Franky.”

Franky quite suddenly doesn’t think so either, not when Robin whips off her bra and presses her naked chest to his, and any embarrassment or awkwardness evaporates in the same instant that he finally and enthusiastically picks up from where they left off. Can’t even remember what they were talking about in the first place. Ah well.  

They move deliberately and with increasing intensity, limbs tangling and desperate kisses covering any exposed skin. Franky notices that they’ve moved enough for Robin to now be straddling him. Her ponytail is a mess, her face is barely pink and he’s sure he’s bright red again because when she leans in for another kiss she’s grinning at him. When they part, sweating and squirming and aching to advance, he glances down between her legs and is almost impressed to find the silky ribbon keeping the remaining undergarment on her body entwined in his fingers.

A slight tug is all it takes for the fabric to fall away. Robin pulls the tie out of her hair, letting it splash around her shoulders, and Franky REALLY wishes he had his sunglasses now because Nico Robin on top of him? _This_ is what he needed them for.

Franky is not the sort of man Robin ever envisioned sharing such intimacy with. For all of the predictable, forgettable men who have pursued her in the past - suave, sleazy, abundant in romance but lacking passion, or simply after one thing - Robin has never known anyone quite like Franky. And there isn’t a doubt in her mind that for all of his peculiar and (on occasion shamefully) embarrassing habits, Franky is most certainly an _excellent_ lover.

The other men comprising their crew, while trustworthy and dedicated, are family to her now. Although she has always had a sneaking suspicion that unsociable, disinterested Zoro may well be similar to Franky in… certain ways, she is also sure that his passion is focused entirely on their captain. Franky seems to believe so, too. It’s only an assumption based on observation and guesswork as Zoro has never opened himself up in all the time she’s known him. But it has always seemed obvious to Robin, so used to keeping her own feelings reserved, that Zoro is hiding something despite his strength of feeling. Perhaps even because of it.

And that is where Franky is so different from everyone else. A man who is unable to hide his emotions, who has no qualms with stating outright how he feels and what he wants, Franky is simultaneously unafraid to devote himself to everything he does. The Straw Hats have done a wonderful job of making her feel wanted and loved, but somehow Franky has gone beyond that- somehow through his insatiable passion he has made her feel human.

Between hitched gasps when he bucks to meet her grinding, Robin briefly wonders if two monsters make a whole, and the thought makes her subconsciously scrape her nails over his chest. He grunts at it, lost in the moment, and there’s a pronounced throb within her which is answered with an aggressive roll of hips. “Franky,” she moans, body curving easily as his hands slide over her rump, up along her waist, her sides, stroking down her front and then gripping at her hips to steady them both.

The hands on her are strong and rough, large and fuelled by passion. They are just like the man they belong to - the only man for whom she has ever made an effort, the only man who could ever possibly begin to understand her. Perhaps someday he may come to realise this without her needing to tell him. But Robin would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy with Franky, right here, right now, even if he is totally oblivious to the most obvious of signs.

*

Several hours and cola bottles later, the sun is rising on what is bound to be a lovely spring day out on Sunny. The snow from the previous night has already melted away, and the wintery cold has gone. Franky stumbles out of the library, grateful to have his sunglasses back on because damn is that dawn a bright one today, and heads as casually as he can back to the boy’s bunk, kicking the door open and whistling as he strolls in.

Rich orange light pours over the wooden floor and immediately, Franky lifts his sunglasses upon sighting not one but two human-shaped lumps over in Zoro’s bed. Lookin’ pretty damn close, too. Hmmm. How interesting.  

Rather than think too much over it, Franky gives a shrug of smug acknowledgement before crashing into his own bed to catch a few hours of sleep. It does make him wonder what Robin had meant before, that whole thing with the proverb and all, but he’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

It’s going to take him a little while longer to understand that the nagging disbelief which has threatened anxiety since he started this thing with Robin is, as of tonight, baseless. That all the doubts he had about himself have already been completely crushed though he obviously doesn't get it yet.

And by something as simple as a set of underwear, too.


End file.
